


Impossible As It May Seem

by essequamvideri24



Category: The Shadow of the Tower, The White Princess (TV), The White Queen (TV), Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: 1990's au, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 1990's modern AU of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is set in the 1990's in England. The plot of this story was pitched by Tumblr user @harritudur and the time period was selected by myself. This story is a gift to @harritudur.

Like a child, Henry sat and waited on his mother while she chattered with his uncle. They all knew the official protocol, but within the family, away from the eyes of the public, there were other rules. In their realm, Mags reigned supreme.

The king’s mother sipped her tea and listened to his uncle Jasper recount a meeting he had had with the Earl of something-something, a noble Henry was not acquainted with. Normally Henry would have been paying rapt attention, but he was preoccupied with his own thoughts today.

Depending on how one looked at it, Henry was in his current position either through a stroke of good luck or through a series of rather unfortunate events. In any case, gone were his days of living the high-life on the European continent. It was time to get down to work, as Mags and Jasper continued to remind him.

He hadn’t been in his position long, and he was still reeling from the events of the all too recent past. His cousin Richard had been king, a young king at that, scarcely three years older than Henry himself. Richard was not king long, but his time under the crown had been fraught with misfortune. First, his son Edward had taken ill and suddenly died. Shortly after Queen Anne, his wife, just of an age with Henry, had died under mysterious circumstances. Some said her grief over her poor boy was more than she could handle. A bare six months later saw a grave day for the king, who died after an assassination attempt.

Next in line for the crown was Richard’s nephew Edward Duke of Clarence, the orphaned son of Richard’s late brother George. But the boy’s mental handicaps made him unfit to rule and his guardians refused the throne on the boy’s behalf.

Only a few years prior the throne would have passed to Richard’s other nieces and nephews, by his deceased brother Edward IV. But a very ugly and very public feud between Richard and Edward’s widow Elizabeth Woodville had seen the bastardization of her children, and the former princes and princesses had been banned from inheriting the throne.

The truth of the matter was Richard was never meant to be king at all. Edward’s will had named his brother as a sort of interregnum authority while Edward’s children were still minors. But the power had gone to Richard’s head and he had had himself crowned after his falling out with Elizabeth Woodville. So there was no interregnum and the disenfranchised princes and princesses were called the York children.

And so, that was how Henry found himself at tea with his mother, uncle, and a few others discussing his unexpected coronation. Still trying to wrap his head around the logistics that had landed him in his current position, he found paying attention damn near impossible.

“Are you listening?” Jasper asked, touching Henry’s arm.

“Yes, this concerns you.” Mags agreed.

Henry shook himself from him musings to find a host of blank faces watching him. “Oh, yes, do go on.” He prompted them. Taking a moment to look about the richly furnished old room, with it’s wood paneling, high ceilings, fine hand crafted furnishings, and rich rugs. This had been the king’s parlor.

“Your coronation.” Said one particularly old man with quite a few bits of ribbon and shiny medals adhered to his jacket.

“What about it?” He reached for his own tea, only to find his had gone tepid. They had been discussing the matter of his coronation for the better part of the morning and he didn’t know what exactly the man wanted. “We’ve set the date, the crown is ready in the tower, my clothes are on order, what else is there to do? Do we have to reserve Westminster Abbey for the date?”

Mags looked like she was actively trying not the roll her eyes at her son’s thinly veiled sarcasm, and instead settled on looking down at her tea with raised eyebrows. “There are invitations and seating arrangements to make.”

“Friends, family, and important folks. How hard can it be?”

“With limited seating and the need to be selective for the reception afterward, it may be harder than you think.” Jasper intoned. “You need to be selective about the friends and influential people you invite.” The cup and saucer looked oddly dainty and small in Jasper’s big, rough hands.

“Well, I don’t have a terribly large family, just you two and Tom.” Henry referred to his step-father and conveniently left out his illegitimate son back in France. “As for friends, John de Vere and John de la Pole, my usual group, you know.”

“And as for the influential people?” The older man spoke again.

“Foxe, Caxton, the Duke of Clarence, the Queen and her children, Morton, you would probably know better than me who to invite…”

“What about foreign royals and dignitaries?” Jasper asked.

“Invite France, Spain, Germany, Italy, Denmark, Portugal, the US, I don’t know.”

Mags set her tea down on a side table. “I know we are here to advise you, but Henry, ultimately all the decisions are yours, all the answers are yours, the power is yours, the responsibility is yours, the crown is yours. You need to own it.” Strange words from a social climber such as his mother, the woman should have been undermining him to gather as much power for herself as she could.

“I know mother, it’s just an adjustment.”

“Adjust faster.” She advised, equal parts wry humor and dead seriousness.

“Are you sure you want to invite the former queen and her children? That means you would have to take an official stance on their status.” Jasper cautioned. “Richard stripped them of all titles. What do you think should be done about the matter?”

“What was done can be undone.” He said, then paused. “Only, those children all have a better claim to the throne than me.” He looked beside him to his mother, who was contemplating the dregs at the bottom of her tea cup.

“But they would remain illegitimate absent your kindness. Surely they wouldn’t be so foolish as to bite the hand that feeds them.”

“But to vacate Richard’s decree would make it as though the decree had never happened. Their claim would not only be better than mine, but would predate mine. And in any case, there are the people to worry about. They would probably be eager to take up the old York claim and oust me.” He shook his head. “But my conscience seems to tell me that I can’t leave them all stripped of titles. In any case, I want them at the coronation, I will take a stance on the issue later.”

Mags looked at him askance, “But you should be considering your stance now. Later may come sooner than you think.”

****

He didn’t know them. Most were people he knew of from tabloids or gossip, he hadn’t met most of them. That was what an education abroad did; made you a stranger in your own country.

On the way to the Abbey, the masses had crowded the streets, some with flowers, or signs, or teddy bears, or flags, or paraphernalia made especially for the occasion. Inside the Abbey it was a much more sober affair. People were stood in their assigned places and happy enough, but entirely more quiet.

The ermine lined robe was heavy about his shoulders, heavier more for the last gasp of London’s summer heat, before a cold and wet autumn descended upon them. He felt equal parts proud and incredulous. Of course it hadn’t escaped his notice that he was somewhere in the line of succession, but the possibility of it devolving upon him was so remote he felt he had never dreamt of or prepared himself for this moment.

The procession to the dais, the kneeling before the bishop, the anointing and prayers were all as silent and tedious as they were important and rapturously observed. Eventually the bishop whispered to Henry to take the chair and Henry carefully propped himself on the large and ancient chair of Saint Edward. He could see the Stone of Scone had been retrieved from Edinburgh Castle and laid under the chair between the four stout lion shaped legs.

And then a scepter was brought to him, and after that an orb with a heavy gold cross on top, inlaid with pearls. There were a few dull flashes from the otherwise discrete official photographers. The bishop approached with the crown and Henry swallowed hard. This was it, the literal crowning moment. A brief moment of introspection revealed that he was not as scared as he had thought he was. Rather he was excited at the prospect of a new chapter opening in his life. The crown was settled atop his dirty blond hair and a ring was placed on his finger.

It was the culmination of the all-important song and dance that was so foreign to him.

“I present to these United Kingdoms, King Henry the Seventh, your undoubted King.” The bishop announced in a booming voice Henry could have hardly guessed he possessed.

Afterward there was plenty of curtsying and kneeling as he processed out of the Abbey in the ceremonial robe, with the coronation crown on his head.

Of course, at twenty-nine Henry was aware that he was far from the youngest or even a young King of England. But little good it did him, for he felt quite sure that he was the least prepared. His mother had always told him he was royalty and in line for the crown, but he had always brushed it aside.

Once outside the Abbey, there was quite a lot of photos and cheering. As Henry was ensconced in a quaint horse drawn carriage, a song was struck up out of nowhere and the whole crowd joined in.

The route to Buckingham Palace was mobbed with people trying to get a look, however skeptical, at their new king who they knew so little of. It was true, Henry had barely been raised in the United Kingdom. At a young age he had been sent from his mother’s home in Wales to a prestigious all-boys school in France. Uncle Jasper, then living in France, had become his closest family, as Henry saw more of him than his own mother. Mags was rather preoccupied with her official duties as a duchess, her court life, her social calendar, her charities, and her position as a scholastic benefactress. He, on the other hand, had fallen in with a group of other English boys in school and after graduation from Uni they had proceeded to tour the continent in the rowdiest fashion imaginable.

But the closer the throne had become over the last year and a half Henry had sobered up more. Unfortunately when he had returned to England his mother had chided him for sounding more French than Welsh or English. But he had heeded her initial warning and had left his past in France, his illegitimate child included. A few of his school-mates had followed him across the channel and these friends he kept close.

At Buckingham Henry was brought to the front of the palace and dropped off out at the façade outside of the gates to stand for some further photos. From here he could see the masses on the mall and he gave them a wave, which earned him a cheer of “God save King Henry.” The phrase seemed surreal to him. It reminded him of his predecessors, the kings and queens who had come before him. He was now a part of history. National history. World history. If he hadn’t been so damn excited about the day he could have thrown up from the pressure of the thought.

****

Changed into fresh clothes, a smart three piece evening suit, and relieved of the weight of the crown and robe, Henry tried to tame his somewhat wavy dark blond hair. He didn’t look like a king, but he was starting to experience the first inklings perhaps of what it felt like to be a king. At the minimum he knew he needed to return downstairs, where everyone was waiting for him, and act like a king.

He thanked his footman for helping him and gestured to his uncle Jasper to come with him. Mags was waiting in a chair in the hall, scribbling in her journal. “Mother?” He said and she shoved the notebook and pencil in her handbag and pulled her elbow length gloves back on, before she stood and straightened his tie.

The three processed to the stairs, and the selected guests at the foot of the stairs clapped politely as he descended and champagne was passed out. Henry was handed a flute and there was a pause, everyone was looking at him expectantly. Stopping midway down the grand staircase, Mags and Jasper behind him, Henry wondered if a speech was anticipated. He should, he supposed, say something.

“Good people of England.” He began in a panic. “Thank you for joining me on this, my coronation day. Thank you for celebrating with me tonight.” It was a struggle not to shuffle his feet or fill the moment of hesitation with nervous chatter. “I know you never expected me to be your king, frankly I never expected it myself. However, I rise to the occasion and plan to take up my charge with everything I have. I shall devote my life to the oath I swore today on Saint Edward’s chair, to England, to you, and to God.” There, he’s said something. Something intelligible, even. Thanks for the education, mom. Perhaps it was best to quit while he was ahead, wrap it up, make a toast. “I propose a toast.” Gosh, he was really flying by the seat of his pants now, what on earth was he toasting? “To England, may she prosper.” It was a safe toast, nothing extravagant or verbose or presumptuous.

“To England!” They all repeated and tipped back their glasses. Henry took the moment to take a hurried sip and finish descending the stairs.

Next there was a dinner in the incredibly large ball room, which housed an impossibly long, u-shaped table flanked by four columns of uniform chairs. It was an impressive location, with two giant paintings on either wall, and gold and white painted and carved wood detailing all over the walls. Four heavily adorned and pendulous crystal chandeliers hung from the elaborately plastered ceiling. Everyone found their spot, Henry in the middle, his mother at one end and his cousin John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, as a senior member of the royal family, sat at the other end.

The courses began and Henry took a moment to study his unfamiliar guests while Jasper facilitated conversation with those who sat by them. He recognized a few from the news and such. There was Dorset, who he had met once in France a few years earlier and was the son of the former queen from a prior marriage. He was two years older than Henry and very much likeable. Beside him was his mother, former queen Elizabeth Woodville, who he recognized from the news. Her two younger sons had been kidnapped at the beginning of Richard’s reign and she had appeared on the news often, pleading for her boys return, but they were never to be seen again. She was still as beautiful as she had been when Edward had nearly scandalized the world by marrying a widow five years his senior. Her looks were more mature now, but she was just as dazzling as on her coronation day.

On Dorset’s other side were his half-sisters. Cecily, Elizabeth, and Mary. Mary was clearly the beauty of the group, and looked something like a budding super model. Still a teenager, she was willowy with white-blond hair and light blue eyes. Her round face was still youthful, childlike, with full cheeks and a quick smile. Her vivacity was infectious to the other girls. Cecily beside her was younger, but her looks echoed her sister’s, though with strawberry blond hair and a smaller nose, in time she would be stunning. Closest to him sat Elizabeth. Her looks were a poor reflection of Mary’s, though the two were obviously still sisters, Elizabeth’s features were a little less refined. Her blue eyes were darker, her nose was longer, her mouth was wider, and there was a dusting of freckles on the tops of her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. She was older than Mary, on the very verge of adulthood, taller too. And her hair was a brilliant shade of red.

Opposite the York children was the Spanish King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, who Henry recognized from the media. They had come without their brood of five children, thank goodness, and seemed to be engaging Elizabeth York in some pleasant conversation. The Queen was a short, stout woman, with long auburn hair arranged into a low, neat pony tail. Her round face was punctuated by her long, bulbous nose, heavy lidded eyes, and pursed lips. The King was a square jawed man with a heavy chin, wide mouth, and dark, beady eyes. His suit was a little out of style, a black double breasted jacket with light grey pinstripes and visible shoulder pads.

At either elbow Henry had his uncle Jasper and George Stanley, Lord Strange, his step-brother. George was a few years younger than him, but rather a serious man. Beside him was his heavily pregnant wife Joan. Despite Henry’s initial misgivings, George did prove to be a fine conversationalist and engaged the king in discussion about current events.

After dinner, the guests were invited into the blue drawing room for drinks and mingling before they were invited back into the ballroom, where the table had been cleared away and the room prepared for an actual ball. There were live musicians arrived, just warming up, and the perimeters of the room were lined with chairs and couches. Waiters and waitresses were circulating with drinks and mini deserts. The room looked even larger without the table, something Henry had doubted was possible.

For the first dance Henry led his mother out onto the floor, it was the appropriate thing to do, given the circumstances. They must have made quite a sight, Henry at well over six feet towering over his mother who barely grazed the five foot mark. She had made an effort tonight to look as youthful as she actually was in an emerald green gown and diamond studded jewelry. Even her ashy light brown hair, which could normally be found in a tight knot atop her head, had been curled and pinned to fall over one shoulder. “You looked like your father today.” A shy smile played on her lips. She seldom mentioned Edmund, her first husband. “You reminded me so much of him.”

Henry only grinned and led her through the steps, afraid to pry into what exactly she meant for fear she would shy like a doe and drop the subject.

“He was tall and confident and happy.” She reminisced in a voice only the two of them could hear. “A man of few, but profound, words. A stranger to custom but bound by his conscience. I hope you become more like him.”

He caught her eye and she looked away. “You need to be careful who you choose for the next dance.” She whispered, changing the subject.

“Who do you suggest?”

Mags considered this for a moment, as Henry led her into a spin, turning over the options in her mind. “It must be someone unwed, someone of noble birth, hmmmmm…”

“Isabella of Viseu?” He asked, catching the woman’s eye as he danced, appreciating the way her purple dress clung to her figure.

“She’s a widow, but perfectly suitable for a dance.”

“Elizabeth York?” He spied her in the crowd about them.

“Not unless you are prepared to take a stand as to the legitimacy and status of the York children.” There was a pause and she looked up at her son. “And are you?”

“Perhaps not just yet. Isabella should do just fine.”

And she did do just fine. With her olive skin, chestnut hair, and excellent dancing she was something of a catch. Motherhood had done nothing to dampen her good looks nor had widowhood. She was amiable and bright. But it was clear they were not well suited for one another, that much he knew. She was guarded, poised, almost plastic. There was no spark of realness in her that he could detect.

At the end of the song he thanked her for the dance and moved on. The evening wore on wonderfully and everyone had more to drink than they should have and so the ball room became loud and filled with laughter from the drunken antics that ensued.

It was well after two in the morning before Henry found himself climbing the stairs to his room. The palace was still filled with sound, though, as many of the upper crust guests had been invited to spend the night in the myriad rooms the palace offered.

In the morning Henry was roused by a footman. “You are invited to a meeting in white drawing room, your majesty.” The rather snooty looking footman informed him.

“A meeting? With who? What about?” He sat on the edge of the bed and yawned widely.

The footman began rooting about in a wardrobe, getting together an outfit for the king, Henry realized. “Your mother the Countess, your uncle the Duke, and… er… Lady Elizabeth Woodville.” The man hesitated then selected a pair of navy slacks. “As to the subject matter, your majesty, I’m afraid I couldn’t say. I’m not privy to such things.”

“Of course.” Henry stood and began getting ready for God only knew what.


	2. Chapter 2

The former queen looked at home, perched on one of the cream silk upholstered antique chairs, in her cream skirt suit and large gold and pearl earrings. She looked like a fixture in the white drawing room of the palace. And she should. She had lived here some twenty years while her husband was King.

It felt odd to be back here in the Palace where she had done so much of her growing up. Even though the residence had changed hands a few times since she had last been there, it still looked and even felt much the same. Hardly any of the décor had changed and in truth she spied much of the same staff about the great old house.

Bess had tucked herself into a chair beside her mother, who sat between her and the king’s mother, Mags. She wasn’t entirely sure why her mother had insisted her eldest daughter accompany her back to the Palace, but Bess had learned long ago that putting up a fight against her mother was useless. And so she found her main goal was to make herself as unnoticeable as possible, sitting out of the way and letting her mother converse with her old friend uninterrupted.

“I’ll send for, Hen- er- the King, then.” Mags said, suddenly, and waived over a serving man at hand.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I was just…” Her mother looked a little deflated, “I was just going to put the question to you so-“

“So I could just put it to him later? Trust me, it’s better that you speak to him yourself.”

Bess made an attempt to sit up straighter in her chair. The king had been sent for to join them, and she had to be as presentable, and simultaneously as inconspicuous, as possible. She didn’t know what they were doing at the Palace that day, not really. Her mother had made it sound like she only meant to make a social call on her old friend Mags, but Bess knew from the start that there was sure to be some ulterior motive. Furthermore, she thought she had a fair idea that she knew what it was.

She didn’t have to look too far back in her memories to recall why they had left the Palace in the first place, and why they were turned out of it by Uncle Richard. The last time they had been in this Palace, in this very room, Richard had railed against her mother about what Edward’s real intentions had been for the throne, and how he had never meant to leave it to his children. The memories of the actual fight were lost, a blur of red faces, raised voices, and passionate disagreement. But the repercussions still lingered like a heavy fog over her life, difficult to navigate and thoroughly alienating by reason of its effective solitude.

The mirror beside the ornate fireplace swung open to reveal a hidden door and through it… Bess stood and smoothed out the invisible creases in her petal pink silk dress and hastily buttoned up the bottom few buttons of her matching cardigan. Her normally wild mane of red hair had been tamed back into a low pony tail for the occasion. Of course, her preening was all of no consequence, since it was her mother’s visit.

The new king entered and they all made their little bows and curtsies as he joined them in the sitting area, nodding at each and saying ‘hello’ to them in turn.

“So glad you could join us.” Mags said as they all resumed their places, the king taking a seat on the matching sofa so he sat across from her mother.

“Your highness,” Elizabeth began, “I hate to impose on you like this.”

“You aren’t, dear Elizabeth,” Mags said from beside Elizabeth, “You had only asked to see me. It is I who is imposing on my son by inviting him to join us.”

Henry’s smile was quick, “I was only too happy to accept the invitation.”

From her vantage point between her mother and the king, Elizabeth was able to make a better study of Henry than she had been able to the night prior. He was a tall man, slender and lean, with the build of a long distance runner. Gosh, he probably was a runner, wasn’t he? One of those super motivated, healthy types she couldn’t stand. His sandy blond hair was slightly longer on the top where it fell in waves and curls. His face, however, was nothing remarkable. It was a long face, with a long nose and small gray eyes above high, hollow cheeks. It was only the cut of his hair, the liveliness of his eyes, and the small dimple in his chin that created the illusion of stylishness or handsomeness. She’d made up her mind that he was one of those health-nut runners, though she wouldn’t let that taint her opinion of him just yet. Though maybe his unnatural English accent would yet turn her thoughts against him.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my eldest daughter, Elizabeth.” Bess realized she was being acknowledged, albeit by her full name, and bowed her head as the king turned to look at her. Her’s was a gesture of modesty and meekness, one that had not been entirely instilled in her and rather rose from her natural predilections.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” The king said.

Bess looked up from under her lashes to meet his eyes. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, your highness.” She said.

“We enjoyed the coronation and reception yesterday evening. It was generous of your highness to invite us.” Her mother prattled on.

“I was glad you and your children were able to come.”

“I’m afraid we did have to duck out around 10, what with the children and all.”

Henry’s lips lifted at the corner in a grin, “You didn’t miss much, just some people enjoying themselves perhaps more than they should have.

A knowing smile washed over Elizabeth’s face, “They always do in the end, I find.” She clasped her hands together in her lap as she embarked on a new topic of conversation. “Truth be told, I came here today to see your mother, hoping that she would put my case to you. I thought that maybe her recommendation would make you favorable to my cause.”

Ah, so it was just as Bess had suspected after all. Elizabeth Woodville had done this once before and come out with more than she had bargained for. But, she was tempting fate this time. For twenty years ago, in the bloom of youth, her looks had probably influenced the outcome. But in the present day, with her matured features, mom-ish haircut, and nearly twenty years the king’s senior, things probably wouldn’t work out the same at all.

Recognition flashed in Henry’s eyes and he positioned himself so his arm was propped on the edge of the sofa nearest Bess. “Your cause being you and your children’s titles and status, I assume?”

“Yes.”

There was a palpable tension in the room. Bess looked to Mags who seemed to only just have a reign in her impulse to interject, the way her lips pursed and her eyes lit up suggested the words were on the very tip of her tongue. 

“I do, of course, see some merit in your cause, and I am sympathetic to you and your children.” There was a pause while his eyes strayed past Elizabeth’s face and over her shoulder, taking in a still-life painting hung on the far wall, unseeing. “What is it you ask of me, exactly?”

“Something, anything.” It couldn’t sound anything but desperate. Normally Bess would be suffering from some pretty acute second-hand embarrassment in a situation like this. However, seeing her mother so genuinely anxious for years on end -- fretting over her children’s futures, enduring the gossip, and navigating the social ostracism -- Bess felt the occasion required raw emotion painted over with the gloss of acceptable cultural mores. 

“I and my children are little more than commoners, despite our birth.” There was color rising in Elizabeth’s cheeks, betraying her usually stony appearance. “Even some lowly title would be better than nothing.”

Henry’s eyes were still on the painting, frustratingly enough. Was he even listening? After a pregnant pause he seemed to decide to respond. “I-I am prepared to dismiss any allegations of illegitimacy against your children.” His attention darted briefly to Bess, “They are plainly King Edward’s children.

There was an earned brightness dancing in Elizabeth’s eyes, there was something of her mother that Bess had only ever seen in old photos. She looked young, with that gleam of expectancy in her eye, and it was easy to see how her dad had been captivated by her, enough to blind him to good reason and deafen him to his councilor’s protests.

“As for the other matter,” he sat forward a little, as if he could slip off of the sofa and zip from the room at any moment, his eyes snapped to the former queen, “I am not in a position to resolve it here and today. You of all people know how it is. I shall do my best for your family, but I must seek the advice of men much wiser than I, first.”

Only a touch crestfallen, Elizabeth’s hands clenched at one another in her lap. “Thank you, your highness, for taking the time to listen.” 

The king stood, and so they all stood. “It was good to see you, Eli-Lady Elizabeth.” He took her mother’s hand for a moment, then nodded at Bess, “Lady Elizabeth.” And then he was leaving, returning back through the hidden door, the mirror swinging back into place behind him.

“I will work with him to find a solution for you.” Mags said the moment the door had closed.

“What kind of options do we have? He can’t restore us to our former titles… that would be entirely impossible.” Elizabeth collapsed into her chair.

“We need to be creative, Elizabeth, clever.” Mags resumed her own seat and Bess poured some tea for all of them from the service on the coffee table. 

She could feel the other woman’s eyes on her as she handed out the cups and saucers. Mags was a small woman, younger than her mother, and far more waifish, but with a strangely commanding presence. She would have made one hell of a queen, Bess had always thought. Her hair was a beautiful, deep auburn, and was usually pulled back in a sleek knot or pony tail. The modest, but expensive, clothes she wore often looked too mature for her, like a child playing dress-up in her mother’s wardrobe. However her tastefully opulent jewelry was a clear indicator of her true social status, as was her well-read and well-spoken conversation. She realized, now, that Mags and her son shared the same deep set, gray eyes; eyes which looked like they belonged to a much older, more world-weary person.

“What do you mean by creativity?” Elizabeth tried her tea, which her daughter had fixed for her.

“Well, let’s brainstorm.” Mags leaned against the arm of her chair, cup and saucer in hand. “You cannot use your father’s title, since it has already passed to your boy. And you cannot use your father-in-law’s title, since that is reserved for the second son of the king. In fact, all of the best titles are already in use and we certainly could not hope that the king would create a new title for you.”

Darkness seemed to eclipse the bright glow of Elizabeth’s azure eyes, “Why not?”

“It would be scandalous, of course, for him to do so. Far too preferential.” It was clear her friend did not agree with her analysis. “But do remember, dear Elizabeth, you are a single woman. You could always marry into a title…”

Elizabeth’s shoulders dropped, “I know, but I’ve been married twice already and hate relying on a man. You know how independent I am.”

“Hmmm, yes…” Mags lifted her cup to her lips and spoke over the rim, “and you know how independent I am, yet here I am on husband number three.”

Bess felt like she was watching a tennis match, her eyes bouncing from woman to woman as they spoke in turn, returning volley after volley.

“But we are cut from an entirely different cloth, Mags.” There was a brief pause before she forged on, “What do you think of my girl’s prospects. Bess, specifically?”

Prospects? For… what? For social acceptance, for party invites, for attending a top notch university after her so-called gap year? There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. No, of course not. Not any of those things.

“All of your children have fine prospects, Bess in particular, I should think.” 

If she could have voluntarily vanished from the room in that moment, she would have. They already spoke as though she weren’t there, why should she have to sit and endure their speculations as to her “prospects”? 

“Even as an untitled woman?”

“There is no reasonable doubt that she is Edward’s daughter, title or no. And if you play your cards right, you can generate quite a lot of interest around her. It would be easy to do.”

Like a brand new television in the shops, eh? Bess sipped her tea quietly.

“Indeed?”

Mags absentmindedly rubbed her cheek as she turned her eyes on the former princess. “Yes, given her history, her family, her upbringing… her future could be quite interesting.”

Elizabeth flashed her daughter a sly smile, “I do hope you are right, Mags.”

The women continued to chatter for a short while, Margaret even politely inquired into how Bess was spending her gap year. She gave her standard neutral answer, she had spent a lot of time watching her younger siblings and working with National Trust. It was the acceptable answer. She couldn’t detail why her gap year was devoid of holidays, why she had put her university applications on hold, how she feared the top schools would turn her away given her disgraced social status. 

After the good byes Bess and her mother slipped back into Elizabeth’s classic Mini-Cooper and made their way back home under overcast skies that threatened rain, and soon. Home, these days, was located in the fashionable neighborhood of Notting Hill. Elizabeth had insisted they live in a neighborhood befitting their status. 

However, once they had parked on the street and got out to approach their lovely white home, with a cobalt blue front door bearing a huge brass knocker, and glossy black trim all over, Elizabeth began to check over both shoulders before she proceeded through the narrow garden and down an overlooked set of steps. Theirs was a basement flat, which the family who lived in the home above rented to them. The flat was fairly costly, but short on space. The three bedrooms were each miniscule, with Bess, Cecily, and Mary awkwardly packed into one room, and Anne, Katherine, and Bridget in another. Their mother reserved for herself the smallest room.

Thankfully it was rare for the seven of them to ever be home all at once. The shared spaces were just large enough to suit their needs; a kitchen where two could work, a table for four, and a sitting room with one large sofa and a chair where Elizabeth would sit and nervously knit. The bathroom was spacious enough, but brimming with various styling tools, tooth brushes, lipsticks, and half damp towels.

The girls had thrown themselves into school after they had lost everything, becoming highly involved in various extracurriculars. All except for little Bridget, who went to nursery each day while Elizabeth went to her job as part of the administration at their church. The less time at home, the better, their home now did nothing but remind them of how far they had fallen. 

As Bess made her way into the room which should have been the master bedroom she thought of how much her life had changed in three short years. The room with its worn out bunk bed, shared wardrobes, and piles of laundry, was a clear departure from her formative years spent in the best palaces and estate homes. She had not been brought up to be particularly domestic, that was a learned skill for her, and quickly learned at that. Cecily and Mary, for their parts, had not quite mastered the art of neatness.

“How did that go?” Mary asked, standing in the doorway with Bridget on her hip. The other girls had gone down to the park to play on the swings with Cecily in charge of them. 

Bess shrugged out of her cardigan and began sorting through a pile of clean laundry for something less formal to wear. “I don’t know. Mom didn’t accomplish anything, if that’s what you mean. We’re still here, still…” She unearthed a navy jumper and a pair of creased mustard colored corduroys, “nobodies.”

Mary tucked her white blonde hair behind her ear, “Who knows, maybe the meeting did more good than we know now.”

“The king did say that he would put in a good word for us with his councilors when it came time to discuss out situation… but who knows what that means, or if he’ll really do anything at all.” She stepped into the trousers and pulled them up under her slip dress. Mary was the sort to undress and dress in front of others without a second thought, but Bess was a quite a different creature. Her natural sense of modesty dictated that she expose as little of herself as possible at any given moment. Even standing nude in the bathroom while she waited for the shower water to heat up often made her feel quite nervous.

“Are you about to head to work?”

“Yes, I’m doing tours at the Carlyle’s House all day.” She turned from Mary and rapidly pulled her dress over her head, speedily replacing it with the jumper, all in one fluid motion. “What about you and the girls?”

“I have work tonight too.” Mary assisted in the neo-natal unit in the nearby hospital for a mere pittance, but every bit helped. “Cecily has the night off, so she’ll be home with mom.” 

Bess shoved her feet into a pair of Primark plimsolls and grabbed her backpack, briefly fussing with her hair in the antique mirror above the defunct fireplace. “Can you tell them to save me some supper for after work, please? I have to go catch the tube.”

It had been hard for the former princesses to find employment, or employment that was socially acceptable for such well-bred girls. Bess’s work with National Trust had been sparked by her interest in history. No one could object to Mary’s employment in a hospital, especially given her work with infants. Mary for her part had been able to find pay working in the greenhouse of the horticulture department of a nearby university. The women pooled their incomes to support their family, and often Elizabeth’s sons from her former marriage would surprise them with gifts, which Elizabeth in all her pride would normally refuse until they were thrust upon her. Their mother would never accept money, but a roast left in the refrigerator, or a stack of new movies left atop the VCR, or a new uniform hung in the wardrobe, were not unwelcome surprises.

They made ends meet, they made adjustments, they acclimatized to their new lives, but they never forgot what had come before. And they never forgot what was rightfully theirs.


	3. Chapter 3

The thick card-stock ivory invite pinned to Bess’ cork board had come in just a few weeks ago. Long enough for Bess and her mother to find something appropriate to wear and wonder at the generous recognizance. 

An invitation had been extended from crown to Mrs. Elizabeth York and Miss. Elizabeth York. Rather a miserable business, Bess reflected, having the same name as your mother. It made her life, or at least her life as a commoner, just a touch more confusing. As it turned out, common people were not in the habit of naming daughters for mothers. However, this musing had been eclipsed by her wonder that they had been noticed enough to merit such kindness.

Sure Mags and her mother were friends, but they could always see one another outside of the royal residences. But this third invite to the palace was decidedly official.

It wasn’t for any specific occasion, just a small Saturday garden party. It would, no doubt, be populated with close family and friends.

After agonizing over her dress, Bess had eventually found something half-way suitable in the back of her wardrobe, a blue, white, and yellow floral sundress. It was something Cecily and Mary had assured her was most flattering. “It really brings out your eyes.” Mary had commented.

“No one will be looking at me.” She had demurred, turning to her open wardrobe to search for a cardigan or wrap.

Cecily grinned, “You were noticed enough to be invited. Don’t be so sure no one will be looking at you.”

The comment had stuck with her. Who drew up the guest list for these sort of get-togethers anyway? Why had she been invited to come along with her mother? Was it because her mother was an unmarried woman and so naturally it was assumed she would bring her oldest as a companion? Or was it as Cecily had suggested, she had been noticed?

It didn’t much matter why she had been invited, she supposed as she shimmied back into the sundress on the seasonable cool late summer morning. She would go and smile, and nod, and answer politely, and then return here - home - and go about her life as usual.

The king and his hangers-on had removed to Windsor for the weekend, and Bess was glad of the occasion to return to her favorite royal residence. It had been some time since she had been to the rambling medieval castle turned palace. 

She had never seen the drive through the park and up to the palace so deserted as it was that morning as Elizabeth drove them to the party. She studied the towers and crenelations silhouetted against the morning sky and remembered her awe at the great castle as a child. 

Ushered through the gates Elizabeth soon handed off her mini cooper to a valet and they were led inside to a lounge overlooking the gardens. As she had suspected it was all close friends and family. Her half-brothers were already there with their families, as were Jasper, Tom, Mags, Fox and some nobles Bess recognized from her childhood. The king himself was deep in conversation with his uncle as waiters passed around drinks and folks nattered about this and that.

Below, in the garden, Bess could see neat, white lawn furniture had been set out, canopied under tasseled umbrellas. Servers in black pants and white jackets were just putting the finishing touches on the place settings.

Casting an eye about the lounge Bess found a table half-full of name cards. Ah, so there was a seating chart? She and her mother found their cards just before Mags swished up to them in her mint green sweater set and navy skirt, her son, the king, in tow.

“There you are, Elizabeth dear.” She cooed, wrapping an arm about Bess’ mother. “So glad you could make it. Bess.” She pressed Bess’ hand and hurriedly kissed her cheek. Rather a warmer reception than she had dared hope for. “Now, James over here has been asking about you, Elizabeth, if you would be so good as to speak to him with me.” Mags caught Elizabeth’s hand and began leading her away.

Her mother gave Bess a backward glance as she followed Mag’s lead, soon swallowed up by the modest crowd as the two ladies crossed the lounge.

“Bess?”

She gave a belated curtsy when she heard the king say her name, only to look up and just catch the ironic smile on his lips. “It’s a nickname, your highness.” She said by way of explanation.

Half-expecting him to nod and move on, Bess was rather surprised when he didn’t. “Does everyone call you that?”

“Well, family and some friends.” Her fingers played in the pleats of her skirt as she glanced at his tan linen suit. It was more casual than she would have expected for the occasion.

“And what should I call you, then?” He crooked an eyebrow.

Wracking her brains for the appropriate answer he forged ahead sans response, “Miss. Elizabeth? Elizabeth? Miss. York?”

“Any of those will do. I trust your discretion.” 

“But not Bess?” 

She rather thought he was teasing her. But that couldn’t be right, could it? “I didn’t say it was reserved for friends and family solely. But I trust your highness’ discretion to find the appropriate address.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint. You see, I have almost no discretion when it comes to addresses. In fact, I was quite on the verge of telling you to call me Henry or even Harry.” He shrugged, “But I suppose that would be entirely too informal.”

“Yes, entirely.” She smirked. “So, I shall continue to call you King Henry.”

“Yes, it’s best to err on the side of caution in these matters.” He was all mock seriousness. “Now, Miss. York would you be so good as to divulge to me your table number?”

“Five.” She said, flashing him her place card, then noticed just over his shoulder an announcement was being made. “Oh, it looks like lunch is to be served soon.”

He made a quick study of the room. “It seems we’re to be heading to the garden now.” Then turning to Bess he asked, “Would you allow me to escort you out?”

Would she allow him to escort her out? Like it was some great inconvenience to her? Who was she for him to single her out like that, anyway? “Yes, of course, your highness.” She responded, rearranging her cream wrap.

It was all rather old fashioned, her taking his arm and allowing him to lead her out, and she felt silly for blushing when her hand came to rest on his arm. She noticed as they took the steps down to the garden that some were watching them with no small measure of surprise. She was sure he regretted choosing to escort a disgraced princess, given his current status.

Eager to lighten the mood Bess asked, “And how do you find Buckingham?”

“Immense. I really only use four or so rooms out of the whole place. Have you ever seen the palace full?”

The acknowledgement of her former status was somewhat painful for Bess, and a little awkward. “On important state occasions, yes.” She quickly flitted to another question as they descended to the lawn. “And England, have you reacquainted yourself with your kingdom or do you miss France too much?”

The king chuckled. “I haven’t gone on tour yet, and it’s impossible for me to explore London itself, what with security concerns and so forth. But as for France, no, I don’t miss it. That’s all in the past. I’m too focused on the present and - when I get two moments together for a little thought - the future.” He gestured to the table before them, “Table five, did you say?”

“Umm, yeah.” She couldn’t wait to break away from him. She couldn’t wait for people to stop watching them. If she could have, Bess would have gladly said her thanks and then found her own chair.

However the king didn’t seem to have the same intentions at all. He led her about to a chair, which he pulled out for her.

“Thank you for helping me to my chair, your highness.” Bess said, taking it as graciously as she could, hugging her wrap about her shoulders.

The king only smiled by way of reply. 

She felt relieved when he moved away, rather glad to be rid of his undue attention which had made her fairly uncomfortable which she earnestly hoped he hadn’t pick up on. Bess certainly didn’t think that she was fit company for him, and she reckoned that she wasn’t the only one in the garden of that opinion.

As she glanced about at the faces around her while everyone found their seats, Elizabeth slipped into the chair beside her daughter.

“Where have you been?” She asked her mother.

Elizabeth was admiring the flowers at the center of the round, linen topped table. “Speaking with old acquaintances and friends.” She let her fingers brush over the petals of a particularly full peony, the bloom flushing and delicate. “It seems you were well attended to.”

Bess refrained from wrinkling her nose and merely pursed her lips. “Too well attended to, I’d say.”

“Don’t be so harsh.” 

“I think the lion’s share of folks here would agree with me.”

“You aren’t despised, sweetheart.” Elizabeth said, tilting her chin down as her voice deepened to a confidential whisper. “You are so well thought of, for your father’s sake. You’ve done nothing to warrant anything but the highest regard with these people. Titles aren’t everything, darling.”

“They may not be everything, but they are pretty damn important in these circles.” Bess quipped in the same low tone, surprised at herself as she bit the words off.

Elizabeth’s jaw went rigid and she closed her eyes for a brief moment.

“Of course,” Bess tried to amend herself in a somewhat bewildered fashion, afraid her mother had taken her statement as an accusation of some kind, “of course, we make do with our situation.”

And then she watched as Mags took the seat beside her mother and there was a sinking feeling in her stomach. If she thought she had received too much attention earlier by allowing herself to be led out by the king, she had a feeling she was in for another such treat. They were almost certainly seated at the king’s table. This was definitely an honor of which she and her mother were not worthy, given their current social status.

As Henry seated himself between his mother and uncle Bess looked away and hoped that the embarrassment she felt hadn’t translated to her features.

“Aren’t you going to let Elizabeth know the good news?” Mags asked her son abruptly in a low voice, and Bess managed to bring her attention back to the party at her table.

“Ah yes,” Henry began with a quick grin, “Elizabeth,”

“Your majesty.” Elizabeth acknowledged with an inclination of her chin.

“I have reached some decision, though it is not public knowledge yet. I have communicated the same to my advisors.” He broke off when he registered the confusion on Elizabeth’s face. “About you and your daughters.” He clarified.

“Oh, of course.”

Bess’ interest was sufficiently piqued.

“We are prepared to refute the claims that the children weren’t Edward’s.” Hadn’t he already told them this the last time they had seen the king? She wondered. “And so naturally they are princesses.” He leaned in closer now, just over his mother’s shoulder. “Of course, we are aware of the… complications… that this will occasion — however we have it all in hand.”

This seemed bittersweet, unsatisfactory, news; a hollow assurance for her and her mother. On the one hand Elizabeth’s children would officially be royal princesses once again, but the fact that the king was keeping the specifics from them made Bess uneasy, and her mother visibly so to the trained eye.

“You’ll see, I have statement about it to be released. Soon.” He shifted and his voice became even lower, more conspiratorial. “That is, if we have your assurance that you and your family will cooperate.”

“I’m sure we’ll cooperate if the situation and requests are reasonable.” Elizabeth responded diplomatically, her tone a touch flat, verging on irritated.

Henry leaned back as a salad was set before him on the table. “I think you will find it all very reasonable.” He said confidently.

The remainder of the affair was fairly unremarkable, subdued. The king’s attention was constantly called away by guests who wanted a word or craved some favor or other, and Bess was ever so slightly reminded of her father. Mags and Elizabeth chatted ceaselessly, parading about visiting with friends and acquaintances. For her own part, Bess was approached by many who were glad to see her at royal events again. “We’re all so happy to have you back with us again. Can we expect you at more occasions?” They all wanted to know.

“If I manage to stay in the king’s good graces, maybe you will see more of me soon.” She joked lightly with a wry smile, over and over again, unsure of the veracity of her own words.

As the lunch tables broke up and people began to scatter through the gardens and lawns, Bess found herself yet again in the company of the king, who had turned from one conversation to join her as her own conversation with some earl or other and his wife.

“How do you manage it?” He asked cryptically.

“Manage what, your majesty?” Bess pulled her wrap close about herself. It was awfully late in the season for such a garden party, she mused privately.

“You seem to have such a great rapport with everyone. A kind word for each person. An intimate knowledge of everyone who speaks with you.” He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t understand how you do it.”

“I suppose I was raised in an environment which demanded those certain social graces.” She observed. “However, you seem to get on well enough with everyone.”

He sighed and looked as though he would contradict her, but stopped himself. “Do you enjoy parties like these? I mean, do you honestly?”

Bess considered this for a moment before responding, “Honestly? Yes. Yes, I do. It’s the more subtle side of the job of a royal.” She elaborated. “But it’s quite important as well. It’s important to see and be seen. That’s part of maintaining relationships and forming personal loyalties and allegiances.” She halted at this point and twisted her fingers, her hands in grip with one another. “But I am sure your majesty already knows this, and besides, you probably hear this kind of thing from your advisors already.”

“Most just tell me what to do,” he confided, “and don’t take the time to explain why.”

She felt that the conversation was getting out of the appropriate depth for them and tried to fashion a more neutral response this time. “I’m sure they are just encouraging you to follow tradition. Few ever question tradition.”

The king nodded, but looked off at the people about them on the lawn, “I’m sure you’re right.”

****

Bess had a million questions for her mother after the party, there was much to discuss and dissect. But Elizabeth refused to discuss it with her daughter on the car ride back.

Once home Elizabeth had to change quickly and hurry out the door to the church she worked at. Bess didn’t feel comfortable discussing the event with her sisters until she had gone over it with her mother, for some reason. It wasn’t like they had to get their stories in synch or anything, but Bess wanted to make sure she had the proper read on what they had both experienced.

Luckily Cecily was already at work when she got home and Mary just had time to hand off Bridget before she left to catch her own shift. And so Bess found herself at home with the youngest member of their family. And for the first time she was alone with her thoughts.

As Bridget dressed and redressed her Barbies and made them prance around in their makeshift home below the coffee table Bess reclined on the sofa and listened to the radio. It had been a strange day, she reflected. It was so odd to visit Windsor, a place she once considered home, only to return to a cramped basement flat to babysit her little sister.

And what had been the deal with the attention from King Henry? It hadn’t been excessive by any means, but it had been enough to raise folk’s eyebrows. Certainly he wasn’t interested in her? After all the man was nine years her senior. She chided herself for thinking that was even a possibility. Surely it was pity, after all, she was a former princess whose father had died and hadn’t even left her or her siblings his throne. Her station in life had fallen so far, it could only be pity that motivated him to pay her any attention whatsoever. Then there was the element of their mother’s friendship. Certainly that played a role as well. She had only been invited as her mother’s companion, certainly. 

Even if her status were reinstated, as the king seemed to indicate he would do, what would she gain by that? Invitations to nice events could certainly be among the few perks. But she would still live in this dingy flat, she would still work her day job, she would still be treated like something of an outsider by her former circle of acquaintances. Nothing would improve with the title.

She draw her hands over her face and closed her eyes. Where would she be in the next year, she wondered. Probably not at university like she had initially planned, she couldn’t leave her job and forfeit her income at this junction in her life. Her lip trembled just a touch and she willed herself not to cry. How had her life become so foreign so quickly? How had everything gone to crap so fast? And what in the hell had happened to her brothers.

“Bridget sweetie,” she said in a tight voice as she got up, “I’m just going to jump in the shower, you just keep playing nicely like a good little girl.”

****

The night was just cool enough to permit a modest fire in the hearth, and so Henry had asked that one be laid in his private lounge. It was a small fire, but it was enough.

These days, with a jam-packed schedule and very little down time, the King cherished what little time he had to himself, even if that time was only ever a snatched hour or two before he headed off to bed, so exhausted he wondered how he had functioned at all.

It was nice lounging on the faded green velvet sofa, a good book in his hand and his thoughts a million miles off in Middle Earth, with Frodo Baggins. It was an old favorite of his, an engaging story full of timeless lessons.

There was a light tapping at the door and Henry lay his book across his chest, pages down. It was always something or other, wasn’t it? “Come in.” He called.

His mother peeked her head around the door, “Care if I join you?”

He waved her in. Unlike Henry, comfortable in his dressing gown, Mags was only as dressed down as he ever saw her in a pair of slacks and a jumper. She stepped softly across the rug and Henry raised an eyebrow when he saw that she was wearing a pair of soft, leather soled slippers. She joined him on the sofa

“Please don’t be here to talk work.” He said it like a joke, but was painfully serious.

“Not work, but duty.” She tucked her feet under herself as she sat and Henry momentarily wondered if she was ashamed of the slippers. Abashed.

“Where exactly is the line between work and duty?” He places a bookmark between the page of his book and set it on the coffee table, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting the chance to read any more of it tonight.

“Oh, Henry.” Mags stared into the leaping flames that danced upon the logs, “You know there is no line between the two for a king.” He smile was tight, almost an expression of apology.

She was absolutely right and he knew it. “Can it not wait until the morning?”

There was a flashed of something, embarrassment perhaps, in her eyes. “Not exactly. I had meant to talk to you about it sooner, but it seems I’ve put it off until the last minute.”

What was she on about? He shot his mother a look of inquiry.

“I have reason to believe you will be asked about it by the PM tomorrow, and, well, I don’t want you to be blindsided.”

His irritation was only growing. “Well, I very well may be if you never get to the point. What’s this all about?”

She twisted a ring on her finger. “I have reason to believe the PM will ask you tomorrow about the matter of you marriage.”

A silence hung between them, and Henry allowed it to expand as he processed. “What marriage? I’m not to be married.”

“That’s exactly it.” She said, a sentiment of regret tinging her delivery. “There are some, many actually, who don’t like the idea of a bachelor king. It’s been in the papers and such. It was innocuous at first, hardly worth mentioning or thinking about. However, it’s all sort of reached a crescendo recently. They are saying Parliament may even wish to discuss it.”

He hadn’t heard it mentioned before, he hadn’t even thought about it himself before. But now that his mom had brought it up he could see how important and delicate the matter was. “Thank you for the heads up. That would have blindsided me, indeed.”

Mags waited for a few moments, watching his face then turning her eyes to the flames once again. “Do you know how you will handle such a conversation?” 

Ah, so it wasn’t just a warning, was it. As it always was with his mother, her information was simply there to precipitate a plan she had already fixed in her mind. She hand already thought the whole thing out, and she was just here to coach him. “Did you have any ideas?” He cleared the path for her, though it hardly needed doing, truth be told. Mags was an expert at working a conversation about to the point she had already determined to make.

There was hint of a bashful grin on her lips, but it was all part of her show. “One or two, if you wish to hear them.” He gestured for her to go on. “What if I told you I could solve this and the problem of the Yorks?”

He felt his stomach plummet, rather than a burden lifting from his shoulders. This did not bode wall. “Oh, you can’t be serious?”

“Hear me out.” She put up a hand to halt any further commentary. “How can you keep these princesses in the kingdom when they have a better hereditary right to the throne than you. Especially if you plan on undoing what Richard did. Part of what he did, I’m sure you know, was make it impossibly for them to inherit the throne.”

“But Edward’s will left the throne to Richard, not his children, right?”

“No, he left it to Richard as regent, to hold the post until the eldest boy was no longer a minor. The York children were always on track to inherit the crown until Richard made it impossible. But undoing this, their claim is superior to yours. Bess in particular, since her brothers are missing.:

“So what the great plan? Marry me off to Bess, then?” He was skeptical, certainly that couldn’t be the plan.

“Something like that.” Her confidence was growing, her tone had become imperious. This only served to irritate Henry even more.

“Bess? She’s hardly more than a child.” He sputtered. “If the people don’t like a bachelor king I don’t think they’d be too keen on a lecher king. She’s nine years younger than me!” This didn’t seem to phase Mags. “At absolute best I’d look like an opportunist lecher.”

“A secure and safe opportunist lecher.” Mags said briefly. “Things could be worse. Besides, don’t think I didn’t catch you sizing her up at that garden party.”

“Sizing her up!” He echoed dumbly. “I was being friendly!”

“To the most beautiful girl at the party? How philanthropic of you.” Mags parried.

“You’re the one who drew up the guest list for that thing.” He accused. “You had this plan in mind then. You made sure she was the only eligible one there.”

Mags stood. “Now I don’t know where you got an idea like that from.” She smoothing her palms over the thighs of her slacks. “In any case, that was my plan. You can, of course, try and come up with something better yourself — but I highly suggest you give my plan some serious thought.”

“Any other topics of conversation I should know about for tomorrow? Since apparently you have your ear pressed to every door in the kingdom?” Even Henry didn’t like himself in the moment, he knew he sounded like an ungrateful teenager. She had got the better of him and as stupid as he plan sounded he hated to concede that it was the most likely path for him.

His mother sighed deeply. “Don’t be trite, Henry, I’m just trying to help you out.”

It was absurd, he thought for the thousandth time as she left the lounge. An absolutely mad idea, which he really hated to admit, inconveniently made quite a lot of sense politically. It was the only way to fulfill his promise to Elizabeth without undermining the very throne he occupied. Not it seemed it was all a matter of getting all the parties on board. That was, if he couldn’t come up with something better himself.

He continued thinking about it long after he had climbed up into his large, stately bed. It all seemed like an idea he could get on board with until the image of Bess herself would creep into his thoughts. She really was so young.


End file.
